


The right way to itch a scratch

by Violetta Jones (ViolettaJones)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Biting, Light S/M, M/M, Porn With Plot, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolettaJones/pseuds/Violetta%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanji's being plagued by unwanted urges after an incident involving name-calling, fighting, and biting. And then, it becomes worse, so that he's forced to take measures, against his own will. Because, if he doesn't, who will?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The itch

Every once in a while, Sanji doesn't know what to make of his crew's resident green-haired-swordsman.

Some days, he thinks that it would take very little incentive, maybe a couple rude words, or even just a misplaced, slightly antagonistic glare, for him to snap and kick him to a better place. Sure, the man might be their captain's first mate, as well as their nakama – even his, though on most days, he hates to admit even that much. But the man's also an ape, as well as an eyesore. His overall behavior is the exact opposite of polite. His manners are so boorish that Sanji sometimes wonders if he was raised on the proverbial farm. He barely knows what hygiene is, or diplomacy, for that matter. It's so bad that Sanji often wonders how he even learned to speak human language. And of course, his demeanor towards ladies is just plain rude, inappropriate, and ultimately, unacceptable.

And yet, there are other days when Sanji doesn't know anymore if he really hates the bastard or why, whereas he'd normally consider kicking him into oblivion or hell or another fucking galaxy. On these days, Sanji's urge is replaced by an almost overwhelming desire to push, and see him _break_.

***

At first, it was barely more than an itch, not so different from his usual short-tempered-induced bouts of rightful anger. Not so much that he'd start worrying. He didn't even notice it was there, in the beginning. Or maybe he simply didn't really understand what it was.

Until, some day, after being once more pinned to the ship's grassy floor by Zoro – which happened a little more than the opposite – not that he'd ever acknowledge that fact – after a particularly vicious fight between them, he found himself overwhelmed by that feeling. He was trapped under the asshole's heavily muscled body, the swordsman's knees blocking his legs, refusing him the necessary leverage to revert the situation, which he would usually try to do. As a fighter, there was very little that could aggravate him more than being unable to defend himself. As his hips were helplessly jerking against Zoro's iron grip, he was boiling inwardly with offended anger, almost choking under an intense frustration. His attempts to free himself from the other's smothering bear-hold were proving useless, and he was unwilling to use his precious hands for any violent purpose, which was probably why he ended up doing the only thing that came to his mind. Grabbing the guy's head by his short hair, he used whatever leverage he had to yank it to the side, and savagely bit his stupidly muscular neck, at the joint between the throat and shoulder.

In retrospect, he'd blame it on the fact he was restrained and unable to move away from the bastard. But he'd known soon enough that this reaction had been prompted by a twisted, somewhat sick desire, originated from deep within him. It wasn't merely revenge, no. It was more than just that, even though he couldn't really pinpoint it. He wanted to cause a reaction in the other. To dispel that impassive look from his face, and see his usual restraint shatter.

He craned his neck and planted his teeth into the surprisingly tender flesh of Zoro. He bit him hard, and felt the swordsman jerk and tense above him. Encouraged by this relative success, he increased the pressure. At this, he felt a violent shudder run up Zoro's spine, quickly followed by a deep, yet muffled, consequently faint groan. The salty flavor of blood invaded his mouth, distracting him long enough that it came as a surprise when, as he finally became aware of his surroundings again, he noticed the other wasn't restraining him anymore. Actually, he wasn't moving at all.

Loosening his hold, and ultimately removing his mouth from his aggressor's neck, he raised a wary eye towards his rival, and met his gaze. Zoro was looking at him through narrowed eyes, still slightly panting from their earlier brawl. A faint air of surprise and uneasiness was tinting his features, though he obviously did his best to hide it. Taking advantage of the other's momentary distraction, Sanji used the regained leverage to pounce with his hips, and overturned the guy, switching their positions on the floor.

"What's wrong with you, shit-head? Don't feel like fighting anymore?"

No answer. Sanji scowled.

"What brought this sudden change of heart, marimo? You finally realized what kind of pansy you are, huh?"

Zoro glared, but didn't respond. Sanji's smirk widened.

"Don't tell me you liked that, heh? Fucking masochist."

They were silent for a while, until Zoro swallowed with visible difficulty, cleared his throat, and finally started speaking.

"That hurt, shit-cook," he slowly said, uttering each word in a low voice, as if fighting a dull and uncooperative tongue.

"Yeah, my bad, asshole," Sanji replied playfully.

His eyes went to Zoro's neck, where the shape of his teeth seemed engraved into his skin. A little blood was still trickling down his shoulder into his shirt. He snorted at that sight. He didn't feel guilty in the least. He didn't even bite him that hard to begin with, and the guy was virtually unbreakable. Besides, he deserved every bit of pain Sanji could inflict to him, that jerk. And even then, he could barely believe that his small outburst could have hurt him. He shouldn't be unfazed by such a small bruise, being used to suffering much, much worse. It was barely a scratch, and it was his fault for leaving such an unguarded opening to be taken advantage of.

Which he took great care of smugly reminding the other. But the man brushed off the witty retort with a non-committal answer, shoved him away, and left the deck, obviously not interested in fighting anymore. Leaving him sitting on the floor, more than a little surprised at such a lack of retaliation. By such a meek surrendering. Irritated at the thought that because of the stupid marimo, he missed on a good fight, an opportunity to draw aside from the ship's usual routine. Then again, that second feeling didn't really came as a surprise : he was basically always irritated by Zoro, for some reason.

Which left him merely wondering what the hell had just happened, and why he'd bitten him in the first place.

He had no answer, to both questions.

***

He reflected on the swordsman's reaction, afterward, but didn't seem to find a satisfactory conclusion to these unwanted musings. Unless he directly asked the bastard again – which he certainly had no intention of doing – he'd have to live without knowing whether he had merely reacted to the pain, or if he had really enjoyed it, that sick fuck. If the dumbass answered to begin with, which Sanji doubted greatly, since he didn't when he asked, the first time. He probably didn't even know what this was about.

It still left him profoundly bewildered, and questioning Zoro's motives, as well as his own.

What unsettled him the most, since that fight, was his own reaction, after finally witnessing first-hand what it looked like, when the swordsman lost a little of his usual impassive composure. Because, from that moment on, all Sanji seemed to want was to see it again. Or, more specifically, to cause it again.

It wasn't even the first time he happened to reveal cracks in the other. More often than not, Zoro's seemingly unshakeable demeanor would come undone after one of Sanji's witty remarks. Remarks on his peculiar hair. On his manners. On the way he treated women, or his ugly mug, or on the weather, really. He seemed to find everything that came out of the cook's mouth offensive, probably just as much as Sanji found the simple view of him unbearable. But that was merely psychological warfare at work. What the biting had triggered was a purely physical reaction, in a man who took great pride in his control over his own body, even under the greatest of pains.

Being able to provoke the guy in such a way made Sanji feel powerful, and all he wanted afterward was to do it again.

Of course, he realized this compulsion was very strange, if not just plain creepy. Every time he thought about it, trying to devise a way to achieve what he had in mind, his thoughts soon wandered in the realm of things he just wouldn't let himself do.

Because, honestly, it wasn't like he'd be able to achieve that by innocent, harmless means. Zoro was very resilient to pain, as Sanji came to know through their perpetual bickering, and subsequent fighting. He didn't seem to be easily swayed by tremendously good food either, that bastard, so that was out as well. So, if pain and food, two things that Sanji knew expertly how to inflict – or bestow – upon people, were definitely not going to work, what was left? The answer baffled and unnerved him at the same time.

Because, let's face it, it was impossible. Impossible for him to have such thoughts. He was a ladies man. He devoted his life to the worship of beautiful women.

There was no way he would engage in risky activities with a man, and especially not with that asshole.

And anyway, he didn't see himself peeping on the marimo jerking off – if he ever even did, which Sanji doubted, since the guy didn't seem to know about anything long and hard aside of swords. No more that he could imagine offering his help with that. If the guy ever accepted his help to begin with, which Sanji also doubted. The mere thought made him shudder, anyway. In disgust or disguised anticipation and excitement, he didn't know.

But the urge didn't subside, and soon, the itch turned into full-fledged hunger.

He should have known, really, known from the start. He should have known that such things weren't logical, that he couldn't control them. Known that urges, or lust, or love, or longing, or whatever it really was – such things were like the sea. Powerful and wild, and overwhelming like tides. Men had no way to overcome them, leaving them no choice other than submitting, and doing their best to survive.

So, he longed. He longed, and kept the feeling to himself. Because he knew that, if he ever found the courage to act on his urges, there was no way Zoro would comply with them.

Every once in a while, more often than he'd like to admit, the cook found his gaze wandering in the swordsman's general direction, as he wondered how it would feel to have him lose it under his hands. It gave rise to unwanted feelings, deep within him, that he didn't even want to start acknowledging.

He took to watching the guy while he trained, waiting for the smallest sign of lost restraint during physical effort, to no avail. He started making dishes he knew the other liked, for he always asked for seconds, or even thirds, when these were served, though he never showed any appreciation, other than that, that bastard. He watched him sleep, and though Zoro did let his guard down when he did so, his painfully stupid, relaxed face was as far as could be from the expressive, bothered, wincing one Sanji had witnessed when he bit him.

But life went on, and this whole silly thing never prevented the usual disturbances to cross their path, as they inevitably did.

It was during one of these that it happened. He now knows he should have seen it coming, but it's a fact that he didn't. Because, if he had, he's quite certain he wouldn't have let it happen at all.

***

They were, once again, battling against some random pirate crew, that seemed to think that their smaller ship was an easy target. Or maybe, they found the women on board to their liking, and intended to snatch them away, those bastards. He was surrounded by a bunch of them, leering at him with grim eyes. He quickly threw kicks left and right, rapidly overcoming the annoying hindrance, only to quietly light up a cigarette, and resume practicing his latest, self-admitted slightly creepy hobby : marimo watching.

The guy was surrounded himself, but Sanji wasn't worried about him – he was more than capable enough, and certainly didn't need any help. No, what actually fascinated him this time was the way his posture and the look on his face didn't let through any emotion, as he dived forwards and sliced through his adversaries. How effective and to the point his movements were as he dealt blow after blow, leaving a bloody mess of bodies in his wake. The guy was an oaf, but when he was fighting, he almost became graceful. It was as if everything besides his swords and him disappeared. As if he was merging with them, becoming a strangely elegant human weapon of massive destruction.

Sanji would never admit it, but he liked that. He like that aura of raw, dangerous power that he exuded when Zoro fought.

Lost in his thoughts, he watched the guy slice through the last of the pirates surrounding him, and stand upright, relaxed, as if he'd barely broken a sweat. He looked around, probably for any remaining pirates to battle. And then, his gaze fell on Sanji, who was so out of it that he didn't even think of averting his eyes. When he saw him staring, Zoro automatically glared, and, after a while, started frowning. Sanji saw him open his mouth and shout something, but it was lost in the surrounding battle sounds.

It was when Zoro started running towards his position, eyes intent on him – no, on something, or someone _behind_ him – that he started suspecting something was wrong. Adrenaline suddenly rushing through his body, he turned around briskly, raising a leg and using the momentum to launch in a deadly move, targeting the person he could now feel was there. But it was too late to entirely evade the blow intended for him. He still tried to dodge, and the blow that was aimed at his neck landed on his upper right arm, leaving a deep gash there, right before his shoe collided with his opponent's head, sending him flying over the railing.

Slightly panting under the combined fight exhaustion and adrenaline, he looked as his arm. It was bloodied, and it hurt, but he could still move his fingers, which meant it'd be ok. No nerves or tendons were severed, and he'd sill be able to use it, when it'd be healed.

Still, his right arm.

_Shit._

"What's wrong with you, shit-cook?"

He didn't know if it was the fight's excitement, or something else, but chills run through his body when he heard this voice so close. He raised his head, only to face a very irritated swordsman. He nonchalantly – as much as he could – reached inside his breast pocket for a cigarette, and slowly lit up, before answering.

"None of your concern, dumbass."

Zoro grunted.

"Don't fuck with me. You didn't see that guy coming, and I know you're better than that. So, what's up with you?"

Sanji didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. How could he explain the damn marimo what was really going on? That he'd spent the best of his time watching him, lately, to the point he got distracted during fights? How could he tell him what kind of thoughts were sneaking into his mind, then? That his mere presence, so close, as he grabbed his arm none-too-gently to check the injury, making him wince because it fucking hurt, was extremely unsettling to him? Because it gave rise to urges that gave him the chills, for all kinds of reasons?

He couldn't. But he opened his mouth nevertheless.

"Why do you wanna know?"

Zoro's eyes raised from the bruise he was currently looking at, and set on his face. They stood like this for what felt like a long time to Sanji, staring intently at each other. Zoro's frown deepened, his eyes filled with irritation and concern. And it was almost eerie, because Sanji could swear there was also something else there, something that he couldn't name yet. Or wouldn't. But it was definitely there, and he had a hard time deciding whether to acknowledge it or not.

"Don't fuck with me." Zoro finally said, averting his eyes.

It wasn't a demand. As wrong as it sounded, this was a plea.

Sanji shuddered again, taking in the other's intense gaze, before he looked away, and bewildered at the sudden turn of his thoughts. What was wrong, indeed? He wondered. Because, as they stood there, in the middle of the bloodied deck of their ship, surrounded by enemies as well as their own crew, fighting, he considered actually doing something about his stupid urges. Of all time, he had to chose that moment, which aggravated himself all the more, because it was his own fault for letting himself do so at such a weird time. But it was a fact that he did contemplate assaulting the guy here and now, if the other only let him. Why was he even considering acting on his misplaced, uncontrollable urges? Was it the excitement of the fight? He felt strangely light headed. Exhilarated, even. But he also knew that, if he didn't do it now, he wouldn't do it at all. It was now or never.

Sanji's eyes broke away from Zoro, and surveyed their surroundings. The fight was still going, but the opposite crew's members seemed a lot scarcer now. He looked at the others, and they were doing fine. Chopper and Nami were battling in tandem, Usopp was shooting from the crow's nest, and Luffy was breaking havoc in the enemy lines. The others were doing just fine on their own.

They'd be fine either way.

Discarding the last of his doubts, he grabbed Zoro's shirt with his good hand, and pulled him behind as he started heading for the galley.

"Come with me."

He didn't know if it was because of the tone he used here, leaving room for no protestation, and because Zoro thought he'd tell him what he wanted to know, or some other reason, if he complied without a word. But he followed, and Sanji decided it didn't matter.

Once there, he went for the pantry, dragging the swordsman behind him. When they were both inside, locked the door, and turned back towards Zoro, who was standing there, waiting quietly. When Sanji didn't move, he crossed his arms and frowned.

"So? Spill, already, and don't make me waste my time."

He faced the other guy, and realized he had no idea what to do. It frustrated him tremendously, and he suddenly felt so irritated, at himself and at the stupid guy standing feet from him. In a raging bout of anger, he grabbed the other's collar, and pulled, slamming him violently against the closed door. And from then on, he was lost again.

Zoro was frowning deeply, but was seemingly unfazed by the sudden outburst. Not much, anyway.

"What the hell, shit-cook?" He spit through clenched teeth, looking more and more aggravated by the minute.

Seeing this familiar stern look on his face fueled Sanji's irritation all the more, and prompted him to drag the heavier man closer to him, so their foreheads almost touched.

"You annoy me so much, shitty swordsman." He muttered, before slamming Zoro against the door again.

And again.

If Zoro still kept his composure, there was now tension in his jaw, and his eyes were dangerously darkening.

"The feeling is mutual, asshole."

Sanji snorted, and grinned around his cigarette. Being so close to the swordsman wasn't unusual, but it was different, this time. He wasn't overcome by the usual rightful anger, though he was clearly very irritated. And if they were still fighting, sort of, they were also alone in here.

"You really hate me, don't you?"

He snickered, though he felt all but smug. His mind was like a twirling fest of emotions. Deep inside, under all the aggravation and confusion, he could even feel a tiny pinch of unusual, unsettling desperation, as he waited for the guy's answer.

The other's eyes narrowed a bit, and, surprisingly, he took a long time to reply.

"I hate the stupid shit you pull on me all the time, yeah." He said. "Now, what are we doing here?" Zoro finally asked.

Sanji's heart sank as he stared at Zoro, not knowing how to answer that. His heartbeat was frantic now, and his tongue felt like it was made of lead. His fist tightened around Zoro's collar, and his right arm pulsated with a dull pain when, without thinking, he pounced again, this time with his hips, pressing the other against the wooden door. At this unexpected move, Zoro grunted. He'd been glaring back, but now, his irritation seemed to falter. He intently looked at Sanji through slightly narrowed eyes, and was that a faint surprise, tinting his features? When the swordsman wet his lips absentmindedly, in a way that had Sanji's blood freeze and boil at the same time, he repressed a violent shudder. The cook knew he couldn't afford to look at the other's face anymore. His well-bitten, thin lips were so enticing he didn't trust himself to hold back from latching at them. And if he knew it was what he had in mind when he dragged Zoro here, he still didn't know how he would react to such an unexpected move. He didn't know, why now, of all times, he was hesitating like that. He wasn't afraid. But he apprehended Zoro's reaction.

It was all so confusing.

His eyes fell on the other's shoulder, and it was there, the mark from his earlier biting. It had been a few days, already, but the trace he'd left on the other's body was still there, still faintly red, steadily healing. The thought that this bruise would be gone soon had his heart sink. He wanted to leave something of his on Zoro's body, something that would remain there. Something that Zoro would be able to look at, later, that would remind him of Sanji. Even if he didn't want to.

Maybe that was why he bit him, even though he didn't realize what had possessed him when he did.

That thought strengthened his resolve. He felt Zoro's eyes still on him, but it didn't matter anymore. He had decided that he would go on with this, even if his attentions were unwanted.

He lowered his head and carefully brushed his lips over the bruise, drawing a sharp gasp from the other, who startled and tensed against him, just like the first time. Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, he parted his lips and grazed his tongue against the sensitive, healing skin, tasting the tangy flavor of Zoro's sweat.

And then he bit. Softly at first, eliciting a small gasp from the guy. Then harder. And then some.

He felt Zoro wince and tense against him, muffling a deep groan and trying not to show any reaction, as usual, that asshole. Fortunately, he didn't entirely succeed, which said a great deal about how this was affecting him. Sanji didn't relent, though, and he wondered why the swordsman was reacting like this to such a little pain. After a few seconds, he released his hold and slightly drew back, wondering why he was letting him do this to begin with. Blood was oozing out of the broken skin, and he licked it, gently drawing his tongue over the bruise, until it looked mostly clean. Blood seeped again.

He licked his lips, and they tasted salty.

He raised his head. Zoro was looking at him with slightly glazed eyes, quietly panting through parted lips. Again, he wet them absentmindedly, and Sanji felt something warming within himself. Maybe it was because he'd never seen Zoro like this, hazy and worked up, somewhat undone compared to his usual stoic demeanor.

It made him feel like he never had for a woman.

_This... is what I've been looking for?_

"What –" Zoro started, but he never finished.

Because, as soon as his enticing lips parted, Sanji couldn't do anything but seal this annoying trap in a searing, forceful kiss. He was far from gentle, invading Zoro's unwilling but surprisingly unresisting mouth with strength, setting the pace, and even going as far as biting his tender lower lip so hard he soon tasted blood.

_Why isn't he pushing me away?_

When he drew back, he looked at the other's face intently. His eyes were closed, and he was panting a little more noticeably. A frown was twisting his brow, but far from his usual stern expression, this one seemed to be indicating a slight loss of composure that had Sanji secretly exult inwardly.

He pressed his hips against Zoro's, drawing a shaky inhale from him. The man was definitely hard, Sanji could feel it through the layers of clothes, and – and so was he. It was scary and exhilarating at the same time, to realize that the feeling was mostly mutual. As far as he could tell, anyway. And yet, he felt strangely detached. Like all this was happening to someone else, and he was merely watching from the side.

The swordsman opened his dark eyes in thin crescents, and glared – or tried to – at the cook.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sanji's right hand released the guy's collar and went down to cup his stupidly hard prick. Zoro's breathing quickened, and Sanji smirked.

"Something we've apparently both been wanting, shit-head."

And he squeezed a bit, though this time, he took great care of not hurting him.

He was rewarded by a groan, which the swordsman inefficiently tried to muffle. Encouraged by this barely restrained reaction, Sanji started to fondle through the thick fabric of Zoro's pants. The other inhaled briskly, and the cook could feel him tensing.

_Damn right._

He sneaked his hand, past the annoyingly old-fashioned haramaki, into the other's pants and underwear, and curled his hand around Zoro's cock. He found himself surprised at the fact it wasn't that big, though its size was more than respectable. But Zoro was a big man, all muscles and frowns and dark glares, and he expected... He didn't know what he expected. Or if he expected anything at all. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel slightly smug at the thought that he was, most likely and for once, the bigger one in that area.

He started administering slow strokes, while his mouth went down to the bruise again, lavishing it with small licks and bites. He tried being a little more gentle, this time. He really did.

Zoro's eyes were closed, but he didn't even bother protesting, no more than he tried to stop Sanji. He didn't even try to break free when the latter, in a sudden, irresistible impulse, temporarily released his hold on him and got on his knees, only to jerk his clothes down. Whether he decided to enjoy this or didn't have the drive to resist anymore, the result was the same : he was submitting. And it made the cook feel tremendously powerful, to have such a physically strong man, with an equally strong resolve, surrender like this.

He put his lips around Zoro's erection, eyes intent on his face, taking in every single detail, every small reaction, however faint. The increasing tension in his well-defined jaw. The soft gasps he was letting out every once in a while, trying to suppress them, only partly succeeding. The small beads of sweat rolling on his forehead and scrunched brow. He reveled in them all, and he was now so hard he thought that he might come in his pants if things went on like that.

He started sliding his lips up and down Zoro's cock in regular motions, a hand around the base and the other sneaking around Zoro's thigh, caressing the rough skin there. Not that it wasn't soft. But it was certainly not smooth, a myriad of short hair dotting the outer side. The inside, however, was devoid of these. It was surprisingly soft, not very different from a girl's thigh, as he soon discovered, slowly caressing the apparently sensitive skin, which had the guy shudder. He used this arm – his good arm – to pin the swordsman's lower body to the door, digging his fingers into the dip of flesh between his thigh and hip, preventing him from trusting into his mouth. Asserting that he was the one in charge, that he wouldn't have it any other way. Not that Zoro, worked up as he was, would have the will to even try.

As if Sanji would let him.

Slowly quickening his motions until he found a rhythm that had the other's breath become short, he found himself unable to tear his eyes from Zoro's face, so expressive, after months and months of dull indifference. True, he didn't let much out, even now, but it was still a lot more than what Sanji was used to. He absentmindedly wondered if this was the first time anyone ever went down on him, or if he was just so sensitive that it would turn him into a willing pile of goo as soon as someone would touch him.

Zoro suddenly circled one of his big hands around the arm he was using to stroke him. Sanji thought he'd finally try to stop him, but his hold around his much more delicate wrist was eerily weak. His fingers were tense and warm against his skin, and his hand trembled faintly. All he did, in the end, was run his thumb against on the inside of Sanji's wrist, which made him shudder. The gesture was almost tender.

He batted that offensive hand away, and resumed working on the guy's erection. After that, Zoro didn't try to touch him anymore.

It wasn't long before Zoro's pants became labored. He raised an arm toward his mouth, pressed his knuckles there, most likely to muffle any sound he'd make. He seemed real close. But Sanji wouldn't have any of it. Releasing his hold around Zoro's prick, he grabbed his forearm, and motioned it out of the way. He kept his hand there, not trusting the other to comply to his unstated whim, while his other hand went to grab the man's right buttock. He used this newly gained support to pull his hips closer, swallowing him until he almost choked.

Biting his already bruised lower lip so hard it probably started bleeding again, and letting out a deep, badly muffled groan, Zoro came.

His cock twitched between Sanji's lips, who soon felt the other guy's taste invade his mouth, flavor exploding on his tongue, salty and bitter, in short, quick gushes. When Zoro started softening, letting out small gasps induced by increased sensitivity, he finally released him, swallowing thickly. He licked his lips for a few stray drops, and, closing his eyes, rolled his tongue in his mouth, analyzing the new, foreign flavor. He rested his head against Zoro's thigh, noting for the first time that he was shaking. They both were. Down in his pants, he could feel his own cock, still hard as a rock. He'd have to take care of this, later.

This was really, really bad.

Zoro let himself slide to the floor, his own legs apparently unable to hold his weight anymore, so, Sanji, his eyes never leaving the man before him, leaned back to let him do so. Once sitting there, the swordsman rested his head against the wooden planks in his back, eyes closed, breath slowly settling down. After a while, he sighed, opened his eyes, and glared at the cook, who felt his heart jump.

He expected the swordsman to be angry. To berate him. To accuse him of being a faggot – which would be all kinds of hypocritical, since Zoro himself obviously enjoyed what had just happened. But Zoro didn't do any of these. He just glared, for the longest time, a deep frown adorning his face. Then, he looked down at his arm, which Sanji, as he realized with a start when he looked as well, still had his own hand around. He tried to remove it, but the other didn't let him, grabbing his arm when he tried to withdraw from him. Sanji looked up at him. He was intently staring.

"What gives –" He started, but the swordsman cut him abruptly.

"That's my line, shit-cook."

Zoro's voice didn't hold any apparent anger or disgust. As far as Sanji could tell, he'd recovered his usual impassive composure, for the most part. But the guy proved him wrong when his eyes softened just so, before he started slowly shaking his head.

"What in hell..." He muttered softly.

It was an assessment, not a question, and yet, Sanji felt compelled to answer.

"I..." He started, but stopped as soon as he did.

Zoro looked at him, and if he didn't look questioning, Sanji knew without a doubt that he wanted an explanation. Yet, he had none to give him. And when the other's eyes fell on his crotch, where his pants were stretched by an unattended erection, he suddenly felt very exposed.

He couldn't stay here.

He briskly jumped to his feet, and went to unlock the door.

"Wait."

_Shit._

He didn't turn back, and stood still, waiting for the inevitable questioning that was bound to come soon.

"You..." The swordsman started, but never finished.

His back tense, he slowly turned towards Zoro, who was scratching the back of his head, facing the wall.

"Never mind." He muttered.

Sanji paused, trying to find a logic in this afternoon's events. He didn't. Reaching for his cigarettes, he drew one from inside his vest and lit up. His fingers were still shaking.

He unlocked the door, and was about to leave, when some nagging feeling tugged insistently at the back of his mind. But he didn't know where it came from, nor what it meant. Things just seemed to escape him, today. He shook his head.

_...Right._

"You're welcome, shit-head."

And he left, not even bothering to close the door behind him.


	2. The hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like hunger. And like hunger, Sanji knew that feeling would never be satiated for long.

He'd have loved to pretend that he walked out of the kitchen cool and composed, but the truth is that he almost stumbled there. Mentally stumbled on the wooden floor, under the weight of a thousand conflicted emotions, twirling and making a mess of his mind. Under the weight of heavy arousal spreading through his entire body from between his legs. Stumbled on even ground, on thin air, unable to do anything about it.

He felt like he was in an altered state of consciousness. Everything seemed too bright and kind of fuzzy at the same time.

It was bad. It was all really, really bad, and he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

He blinked and briefly shook his head, as if to clear his muddled thoughts, and absentmindedly surveyed the surrounding area.

He didn't know how long they were huddled down there, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. Maybe ten or fifteen – at most. Nami and Chopper were done fighting their opponents by now, and were walking towards Robin. She was silently watching Luffy administering what Sanji assumed to be the finishing blows to the opposite crew's captain, a small smile upturning the corner of her mouth and her arms elegantly crossed over her chest – she looked beautiful. On the upper deck, Franky was nearly done beating his bunch of ill-intentioned pirates, Usopp having his back from up the crow's nest. That coward hadn't even moved from his safer position since Sanji had dragged Zoro into the pantry, so it really couldn't have been that long, though it seemed like a lifetime to Sanji.

He would join them soon, but there was something he needed to attend before that. And if he didn't want to spend the remaining of the day feeling uncomfortably tight in his pants, courtesy of blue balls, he needed to be quick about it. It wouldn't be long before they started wondering where Zoro or himself had disappeared to.

Whatever Zoro was going to do or say when he'd recover and come out on deck didn't even cross his mind. He was too far gone for that.

Not losing a second, he walked, as quietly and inconspicuously as possible, down the stairs to the lawn deck, through the observation room, only removing his hands from his pockets to promptly climb the ladder to the bathroom area. Once there, he locked himself in the small toilet, shut the bowl closed and sat on it.

Slouching against the tiled wall behind him, he let out a faint sigh. He didn't wait much before proceeding to free his persistent erection from the confines of his dress pants, sighing again as he circled his hand around his cock. He closed his eyes and started stroking it in shallow, brisk moves. He knew it wouldn't take long – it had been a while since he'd felt this horny.

He was in a hurry, but he didn't try to think or draw helpful images from his memories, letting his mind wander instead. Which, in retrospect, might not have been a good idea – or maybe it had been, since it helped make things faster, but afterward, he wouldn't be able to decide.

It was hazy at first, lost as he was in heightened sensations. Sensations of his own cock in his hand, rock hard and slightly damp at the tip, which only served to prove further that the whole thing had stirred him more than he should have allowed.

It reminded him of how Zoro's had felt between his fingers.

He let out a faint moan as he remembered the shit-head's face : barely flushed enough for it to be noticeable ; his eyes closed tightly, as if to deny what Sanji was doing to him ; his brow, twisted in a somewhat strained frown that betrayed how much it was affecting him. His cock had felt hot and firm between his lips, proof that Zoro, despite the distant front he usually put up, was made of warm flesh and blood and emotions like everyone else. That he could be subjected to his own body's whims, even though he was so proud of his control over himself. Very much alive.

Sanji increased the rhythm in his movements. This wouldn't take long at all.

If Zoro had clearly been affected by his own physical reactions, he'd kept mostly unresponsive. He didn't kiss Sanji back when he had the occasion, and barely tried to return the favor when things started to escalate. And yet... When he'd grabbed Sanji's wrist, somewhere along the way, that faint, gentle motion of his thumb against his skin had felt soft and soothing, gentle in a fashion Sanji would never have thought Zoro was capable of. Even after he'd made him stop – even now – it had troubled him deeply.

It had felt intimate.

The thought of that unexpected gesture that had nearly made him come into his pants right there and then, even though he'd rejected it harshly, was what pushed him over the edge this time. His hand firm around the head of his cock to reduce the risk of stains, groaning softly through clenched teeth, Sanji came hard. His orgasm was unexpected and brutal, almost painful, and yet, he didn't think he'd ever felt this good in his whole life.

When it was over, feeling somewhat numb, he leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly.

This was so fucking bad he started wondering if there would ever be a way back from that fucked up fuckery he got himself into. But in his sated state, he couldn't really give a fucking damn about that.

Not yet, anyway.

He gave himself a few moments to come down from his afterglow-induced high, and then started leisurely tucking himself back into his pants. He felt more relaxed and satisfied than he'd felt for days, possibly weeks. He was absentmindedly washing his hands when it occurred to him.

He'd kissed Zoro.

Which was saying a lot more than he felt comfortable with about his unconscious motives. Because as far as Sanji was concerned, and even if he saw it as a prelude to more – among other interesting things – kissing was mostly serious business. To him, kissing implied feelings – which he'd always willingly expressed to the beautiful women who'd deemed him worth taking to their beds – there weren't many who had until now, but still. Every single one of them had deserved the best he had to offer.

And there he was – he'd fucking kissed a man. Not just any man – as if that wasn't bad enough, he'd kissed Zoro. He'd kissed his crew-mate. His crew-mate whom he was supposed to hate – he radically refused to start doubting that fact – and who hated him in return. Worse, he'd kissed a crew-mate who hadn't kissed him back – though honestly, who could blame him? – a crew-mate who probably thought his attentions were misplaced. Or worse, unwanted.

His heart jumped at that last thought, and it certainly didn't feel like the pleasant fluttery feeling he got when a pretty girl flirtatiously batted her eyelashes at him.

_No._

No, it wasn't like that. It couldn't be like that. It wasn't like that idiot couldn't have shoved him off. Sanji might not like it, but for all it was worth, Zoro did have more strength in his upper body, and blowing someone didn't exactly involve leg strength. Furthermore, Sanji was injured. Zoro could have stopped him anytime, and in the end, it seemed like he chose not to. So, in a way, the unusual lack of retaliation – though who knew what had been going on inside Zoro's mind – if there ever was anything there to begin with – it meant he'd wanted it too, right?

In the end Sanji couldn't be sure, but he firmly believed that there was no way Zoro would've let him do everything he did without wanting it, not without resisting.

Sanji sighed. This was fucked up. He was so, so fucked up.

So he'd pretty much molested Zoro in the boat's pantry. Zoro, who might or might not have agreed to that, and there was no way for Sanji to tell, because that idiot never let out much when it came to social interactions and emotions. Despite the fact Zoro didn't exactly try to stop him, the whole thing didn't sit too well with Sanji. He felt an unwelcome yet unsurprising anxiety, laced with guilt, gnaw at his gut.

_Well done, Sanji. You got what you wanted, dumbass. And you royally fucked up. This is way too close to officially throwing you into the arse bandits' club, and anyway, you'll be lucky if Zoro ever wants to see you face again. Or doesn't kill you – or blab to everyone and gets your ass kicked off this ship for being an untrustworthy faggot._

He stopped his thoughts right in their tracks and faintly shook his head. He wasn't a fag, and he wasn't going to cry over losing Zoro's trust, because there hadn't been any between them to begin with – none of that sort, anyway. Sanji had never trusted Zoro much outside of their sole mutual area of expertise – fighting – and believed the reverse was true as well. Though, since Zoro seemed to love reminding him that he was the strongest, only second to Luffy, maybe it had all been in Sanji's mind. It was likely that Zoro had never trusted him at all to begin with.

Sanji doubted that Zoro would tell anyone, though. It would be very unlike him, so he wasn't too worried about that. Despite the fact that he now deserved all the shit that idiot swordsman would throw in his general direction, in all of its glory. Probably. Maybe.

_As if._

But that was irrelevant.

He looked at his disheveled reflection in the mirror. Grooming his blond locks back into place over his left eye with slightly jerky fingers, he let out a disgusted sigh.

 _It's all his fault – nothing would've happened if he wasn't an insensitive jerk_ , Sanji told himself, though deep down, he knew better. He'd been the one to fuck up – the fact Zoro might have deserved it or not didn't diminished the fact that Sanji was a fucked up asshole. But he firmly shoved the thought away, because if he didn't, he thought he'd probably go insane over the matter.

Of course, it was easier said than done.

_And how am I supposed to face him now?_

He didn't have the answer to that question.

This was beyond fucked up.

And curiously, in comparison, the thought that he willingly put a guy's dick – Zoro's dick – in his mouth – seriously, what had possessed him to do such a thing? he had no idea, and it bothered him tremendously – didn't disgust him as much as it should.

 

 

***

After tucking himself back into his pants, without even closing the pantry's door, Zoro's first reaction had been to meditate. He didn't care that he was in the pantry, or that his nakama might need him outside, where the fight had been going on a moment earlier – though he doubted it. They had pretty much beaten those lame-ass pirates when he'd followed Sanji and left the deck, or he wouldn't have agreed to that altogether.

He needed to think. What had just happened and the resulting jumbled emotions he felt right now demanded it. But once he started, he realized he had no idea where to start. He didn't even have the faintest idea of what that whole thing had been about at all.

_Think, dammit._

Sanji had been acting a little weird for some time, but he hadn't thought much of it at first. It was just the ero-cook being his usual self, although a little bit weirder – and shittier – than usual. And in all honesty, Zoro certainly didn't mind the fact the idiot cook seemed willing to whip up every single of his favorite dishes during the past few weeks. But _something_ – something unknown and unnamed yet, that tickled at his instincts and told him to beware – unnerved him about the cook's weird behavior. Made him unusually curious.

Every once in a while, he could feel the man's gaze on him, usually when the other thought he wouldn't notice. Mostly when he was napping, or training. As if that would prevent him from noticing the cook staring. It was too peculiar to ignore completely, and it somewhat upset Zoro. Troubled him, actually. The cook's unusual attention towards him had felt irritating at first, though he'd soon found that he didn't really mind. But this was different from the nagging or bickering he was used to from that guy. And it wasn't exactly unpleasant, for once, not to be on the receiving end of kicks. He'd even started to think he liked it, in a weird kind of way. It felt almost flattering to know that he occupied such an important place in the cook's mind. Even though the idiot looked aggravated more than half the time he was watching him, anyway.

He'd ultimately dismissed it as another of the guy's silly whims, but his curiosity was stronger than ever, though he did his best not to let hit affect him. And after seeing that idiot getting injured because he was watching him – on his fucking arm, when the cook was so protective of his precious hands – had unnerved him more than he'd like to admit. If it put the safety of the crew on the line, as the first mate, he should have given it more attention, as his instincts were telling him to. It was his fault for not realizing earlier that this might be more important than it looked.

But Zoro didn't know how to handle the cook in such a situation. They didn't get along, and the guy had a roundabout way of expressing his deepest insecurities, especially around his male crew-mates. Zoro was pretty sure his usual straight-forward approach would fail, and he wasn't the type to tiptoe around the matter – this approach had never gotten him results. So, when the cook had offered to explain himself, despite the fact that the fight was still going on and that it had been weird to begin with, Zoro didn't want to miss the chance to hear him out. His curiosity, as well as that unease he'd felt since the cook had started acting strangely, had won over the need to protect the crew. Which was obviously a bad idea.

Still, how this ended up with his dick in Sanji's mouth, he didn't have the faintest idea.

Wasn't the cook supposed to be as straight as an arrow? He only ever went into doormat mode – an especially annoying and persistent doormat – around girls. Zoro had never witnessed him acting like that with men. The only things Sanji would grace you with, if you happened to be an adult male, were kicks and nasty epithets. And food, if you were lucky and the cook was having a good day.

Obviously, Zoro was mistaken, and the cook wasn't as straight as he used to think. But that was irrelevant, and didn't trouble him much.

Because Zoro couldn't understand why he didn't try to stop the cook, and that unnerved him more than anything else.

Sanji had always had some bite to him, in more than one way, whether with words or kicks or fury painting his expressive face in that funny crimson color. But Zoro had been so surprised that the guy would literally bite him that he didn't know how to react at all. It had happened that first time as well, when they were fighting.

It had felt foreign to him, for some reason, and very different from the kind of pain he was used to. Zoro was familiar with the bite of steel and violent impact from the idiotic cook's usual kicks. If he found the latter stimulating, in a way – because these powerful blows demanded his full attention and skill in return, and only served to help him get stronger – he wasn't overly fond of either. If anything, he associated pain with training and growth, which were good things, in the end. But taking a hit meant his technique wasn't perfect yet, and pain was a distraction from more important things, such as defeating his opponent. Which was why he'd learned long ago to endure, and ignore physical pain as a minor annoyance, easy to dismiss.

But that first harsh, slightly painful bite had troubled him. Very different from steel's cold, unwavering contact, it was warm, and slightly moist, the more delicate dive of teeth into flesh. Sanji's lips, subtly glazing against his skin at that moment, had felt soft, contrasting with the pain his teeth were inflicting, and certainly too real and close to what he was used to. And when his skin had given in, he had been unable to repress the unexpected, sharp bout of shivering from running like a lightning bolt along his spine.

This was something he'd never experienced before. Zoro wasn't totally unaware of the matters of life – and sexuality. But sex wasn't something he actively pursued. Pretending he wasn't interested in the least would be a lie, but just like pain, he saw sexual urges as passing distractions. Yes, it was supposed to be very enjoyable, if he decided to believe other guys' eagerness to put their dick to what they thought was "good use". But Zoro definitely didn't need that, did he? Besides, who knew how addictive sex could become? Not knowing whether wants would become needs if he addressed his occasional urges, he made it a point never to do so, steeling himself and thinking about something more relevant to his life, like training. He couldn't miss something he never experienced, he always told himself.

Until now, he'd never met anyone who'd made him reconsider his principles regarding sex. He saw himself as blissfully inexperienced, and didn't mind at all.

He'd never thought that his first encounter with sex would happen like this. That the cook would be the one to ruin years of resolute abstinence. Or that he would be unable to respond, in more than one way.

Despite the fact the ero-cook – who now rightfully deserved his monicker, he thought – hadn't exactly waited for his approval, Zoro could have shaken the guy off himself, at any time. And the fact was, he'd chosen not to. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when his resolve had faltered, when he'd not-so-unconsciously decided to go along with Sanji's actions, but if he had to guess, it probably had to do with the biting. And from the very second the cook's hand had grabbed his cock, the fact that idiot hadn't asked for consent, Zoro's resolve, logic, and reason all the same – it all went down the drain.

At that moment, Zoro had found that he didn't mind. He'd always been curious about sex, however unwilling to, and he now knew that he'd wanted this, definitely, even if he hadn't realized it clearly before. In particular, he'd have never thought he'd like being subjected to that kind of attention from the shit-cook, or from any guy, for that matter. Zoro's occasional sexual urges were usually stirred by women, though he wouldn't deny that he sometimes found other men good-looking. He guessed the cook didn't fare too bad in that regard, if he dismissed the foul mouth and generally annoying behavior.

But that was irrelevant, and that knowledge was a poor source of comfort. Giving into his urges couldn't be a good thing. Furthermore, his vague attempt to participate had been dryly rebuffed, and it had wounded his pride in a way that he shouldn't even allow to start with. He hadn't even tried to insist, for fuck's sake... It was unfair – though entirely his fault. He'd wanted to do something, anything – rather than letting it all happen and taking it like a boneless wimp. Which he did, in the end, and if he knew he could blame his hesitation on his lack of experience, it was no excuse. He now regretted not trying harder when he'd had the opportunity, though he knew he shouldn't even afford to do so. He worried that allowing himself to feel like this now would end up leaving him wanting for more, later. Besides, if he'd had enough resolve left at that moment to disregard the cook's clear-cut insistence that he let himself be handled without returning the favor, he should have used it to stop him. In the end, he couldn't decide which was worse.

It was too late for regrets, though.

At this moment, his bruised shoulder started stinging faintly. His lower lip felt slightly sore as well. Sanji had kissed him there. Bitten, too. Put his mouth, lips and tongue right against his skin in what was a surprisingly intimate act, an intrusion of his teeth into Zoro's own flesh.

If Zoro had always thought that kisses were inconsequential, merely the prelude to more intimate contact, what had just happened proved to him that he was naively mistaken. Because Sanji had kissed him, he found it hard not to question the cook's motives. Zoro couldn't be too sure about that, but if that idiot had actual feelings for him – not just pent up frustration that needed release, or whatever bullshit his peculiar, perverted mind could muster – he'd have trouble discarding this whole thing as a mere incident. Feelings weren't inconsequential. Feelings did have consequences – not to say sex didn't, but it generally wasn't as bad, from what he could tell.

And he knew for a fact that he couldn't return those.

He groaned faintly and shook his head. Even now, after it was over, he felt troubled by the surprising occurrence, the cook's touch – different from what he'd have expected, if he had ever expected anything like this – still fresh in his mind. This wouldn't do at all. He made it a point to steady his breathing as closely as possible to a perfect rhythm, emptying his mind to the best of his abilities.

He needed to think.

He should probably get back to the deck before someone started wondering where he was. He didn't want them to start questioning him on his whereabouts, because the incident and what it had stirred within him troubled him too much to share for now. Or ever. He wanted to keep it to himself until he could figure it out. Besides, he needed a change of clothes. His shirt was bloodied around the shoulder that the cook had attacked, and he didn't want Chopper to start asking embarrassing questions while examining him for potential injuries. He should probably skip that altogether and nap instead. He felt tired, for some reason.

After a while, feeling a little more composed, yet still uneasy because of his ambivalent feelings, he stood up and let out a short sigh.

Maybe he didn't fully understand why he'd ended up going along with the cook's whim, knowing how bad of an idea it was, but honestly, he didn't – shouldn't – care to understand. All he knew was that not preventing it from happening had made him unwillingly disclose more of himself that he was comfortable with.

He had to make sure it didn't happen again. He just hoped that Sanji wouldn't try that kind of thing anymore.

He wasn't sure how things would turn if he did.

 

 

***

Sanji silently fumed as he stacked up the inordinate amount of dishes that was the result of every meal on board of their ship. He was so fed up with the shit he'd had to go through for the past days that he felt like breaking something. Or like smoking a pack of cigarettes in one go, not even waiting for the previous one to go out to light the next. Knowing it was all his fault did nothing to alleviate his feeling of guilt, and only made him feel more aggravated at himself, as well as some green-haired simpleton that happened to live in his vicinity.

He was so done with this shit – that was something he'd have loved to tell himself days ago, but he found that he couldn't.

Tonight's dinner had gone on smoothly though – as much as was possible, with Luffy gulping down anything in his reach, and the other idiots being their idiotic selves. Preferably – to Sanji's humble opinion it was certainly _not_ preferable – with chopsticks stuck up their noses, and dancing like morons on the table. Fortunately, the girls never subjected him to such absurd behavior. Nami and Robin were refined and well-behaved, unlike the others. They were grateful for his efforts, whether he exerted them in cooking or sweet attentions for his precious ladies, and rewarded him with smiles more often than not. They didn't skip dinner either, knowing how important it was for him to keep everyone well-fed. They didn't come last when he announced a meal was ready and get out as soon as they were finished either. And they certainly didn't sneak into the galley to steal his best alcohol bottles after he went to bed.

They didn't tense almost imperceptibly when he approached them. They didn't force themselves to stay put, a deep frown on their lovely faces, just so nobody would notice something was bothering them. They didn't flee either when it proved impossible.

They didn't avoid looking at him whenever he was around. They didn't avoid him, period.

Saying the past week had been far from easy for Sanji would be a dire understatement.

He'd seen the usually impassive swordsman steel himself whenever he was in his vicinity. It was barely noticeable, because Zoro was very level-headed most of the time, but Sanji noticed anyway. Probably because he was very much aware of Zoro's subtle reactions these days, for some reason. Nevertheless, that sight certainly didn't help his troubled mind – it actually made things worse. So, he'd tried to be considerate – though he refused to think of it in these terms, because the marimo didn't deserve any consideration – and made himself scarce around Zoro. But in all honesty, seeing that reaction to his presence made him feel anxious to make things better. And since he didn't even know where to start, he really didn't feel like being around Zoro more than was necessary.

At first, anyway.

Soon enough, he started to find the whole situation unbearably infuriating. They were nakama, and thus – trust issues aside – they had to spend their days aboard the same boat. They couldn't tip-toe around each other like that forever, because they inevitably ended up crossing paths multiple times every day. And yet, since it was mostly his fault – which he only admitted in the inmost depths of his mind – he didn't think there was really anything he could do about it, which aggravated him all the more.

If Zoro had been upset, if he'd shouted insults at him or tried to start a fight, Sanji would have faced it all without a second glance. He was really glad that Zoro hadn't told anyone about what had happened, though. He didn't think he'd be able to endure such a situation, and would probably end up leaving the crew, unable to bear his friends' disappointment – if they didn't throw him out first. But the current situation was barely better, and the fact he was in a dead end made it even worse.

But Zoro didn't seem upset at all. He merely seemed annoyed, and uneasy.

_That shit-headed marimo..._

Speaking of which, it was Zoro's turn to help with the dishes. As much as he didn't want to be around that idiot, Sanji was certainly not letting him run from his responsibilities, even if they were just about chores. Also, it'd look weird if, after pestering his other crew-mates – the ladies aside, of course – to help on a daily basis, he let Zoro get away with it.

Things were already as fucked up as he could deal with, and he didn't want to rouse his friends' suspicions.

He breathed in deeply, and feeling he would never be ready enough, he stomped towards the open door.

"Oi, Marimo! Come help me with the dishes if you don't want to fast for a week!"

The threat was as empty as could be, and everyone on board knew better. Sanji never deliberately neglected his crew's stomachs, even when he was grumpy or mad at someone, and they all knew that. But they also knew that when that threat was set forth, if the target didn't comply, shit was about to swoop down on them – through insults and kicks and overall shitty temper instead.

If someone had asked Sanji, he would've replied that Zoro knew that better than anyone else, being on the receiving end of anger-fueled kicks more often than not.

And yet, there he was, lying on the deck's grass, which made it hard to tell where it stopped and his hair began. As he approached the shit-headed swordsman, Sanji could hear a faint snoring sound coming from his general direction. He was asleep, his mouth stupidly relaxed but his eyes overcast by the usual frown, oblivious to the shit coming to him. Of course, that sight made Sanji's blood boil, though he would never admit that seeing Zoro so defenseless was part of the reasons it did.

Feeling the sudden urge to attack him in a way that he resolutely forbid himself to even think about, especially right in the open, Sanji had to remind himself that Zoro was never defenseless. Even when he was seemingly asleep.

And then, the irreverent asshole snorted in his sleep, as if to mock him.

_That's it. I've had enough._

Launching his body in the air, he directed one of his most efficient kicks towards the dipshit's head.

"Shitty marimo!"

But of course, _of course_ , as he was about to hit that dumbass and give him a more-than-beneficial facelift, Zoro simply rolled over, dodging the blow and denying Sanji the vengeful satisfaction he rightfully deserved. Sanji's foot hit the ground, small bits of grass floating leisurely in all directions. The cook clenched his teeth in anger and glanced at Zoro, whatever insult he was about to shout dying before even getting past his throat.

That idiot hadn't even woken up. He was still snoring as if everything was well in the world.

Sanji's feeling of helplessness threatened to overwhelm him for a second. He almost felt like curling into a ball and crying, but he knew it would solve nothing, and besides, he wasn't a wimp. He was better than that.

Insults and threats weren't efficient, and neither was physical violence. If he wanted to get out of this fucked up situation – whether it was about dishes or inappropriate behavior towards his male crew-mate was irrelevant to him, at that point – he needed to find another way.

He slowly retrieved his foot from the hole he'd carved in the grassy floor, brushing away any trace of dirt from his polished shoes with a swift motion of his hand. After reaching into his jacket for a cigarette, he proceeded to light up. He could already feel his blazing anger being replaced by a cold, merciless rage.

He crouched next to Zoro, and after dragging on his cigarette deeply, and resolutely blew a thick cloud of smoke into the guy's face. Finally, the swordsman's face crunched into a displeased expression, and letting out a lazy groan, he opened his eyes.

Sanji was feeling more than a little pleased at that reaction, and even managed to sneer.

"Oi, shit-head. Dishes are waiting."

Zoro blinked, and with a rather plaintive groan, rolled around, turning his back to Sanji, seemingly resuming his nap.

_Not happening._

Sanji grabbed him by his shirt's collar, and started dragging him unceremoniously towards the galley. Until Zoro, finally waking up for good, batted his arm away and managed to stand up.

"What the hell, shit-cook?"

He raised his eyes to look at him with undisguised hostility, for the first time in what seemed like forever. Despite the fact he wasn't a coward, Sanji found he couldn't hold that antagonistic glare. He took a long drag on his cigarette and turned around.

"There's a huge pile of dirty dishes waiting for you, meat-head," he said, and he didn't sound nervous, nope, not at all. He snorted : "Does that scare you? They don't bite, you know."

The words were barely out of his mouth that he realized how poorly worded that taunt was.

_Oops.  
_

But it was too late, and the words were out, whether he liked it or not. He didn't dare turn around to look at Zoro's face. Anything would be better than seeing that uneasy look that he seemed to sport whenever he was around, lately. Feeling mortified, he headed for the galley without further taunt or threat. He now hoped Zoro would ignore what had just happened and decide to sleep more instead. The dishes weren't going to wash themselves, though. He discarded his jacket, hanging it neatly on the back of a nearby chair, rolled his sleeves, and started scrubbing energetically.

The task proved to be a poor distraction. He was so used to doing it that his mind was free to wander in directions he'd rather avoid. Like the deck, where the current cause of all his woes was probably napping again, by now.

He nearly jumped in the air when the door suddenly opened in his back, and cringed internally when it was followed by the familiar stomping of boots. For all the lethal grace Zoro seemed to have in battle, his gait was strangely heavy, he mused, trying not to tense as the dumbass came near the sink and grabbed a dishcloth.

He cleared his throat to discretely dispel his nervousness, focusing his gaze on the plate he was washing.

"I wasn't expecting you," he said, before realizing he sounded like an idiot.

_Yeah, it's not like you just asked him to help, asshole._

Since he wasn't able to open his mouth without making a fool out of himself, he resolutely decided to keep it shut.

Fortunately, Zoro didn't retaliate.

They started working in silence, Sanji briskly washing plates and pots and cutlery, passing them one after the other to Zoro, who quietly complied to the unstated order each time. But to Sanji, it was too quiet. They'd usually bicker not-so-amiably while doing dishes, and the silence was putting a strain on his already frazzled nerves. It felt very awkward, and he suddenly felt a raw, desperate need for normalcy that he knew wouldn't be fulfilled in such a situation. After a while, he discretely glanced at Zoro. His frown was as deep as ever, but Sanji was surprised – and a little aggravated – to find that he was staring at the tiled wall in front of him. Not to his hands, as he was supposed to. That idiot wasn't paying any attention to what he was doing, which Sanji knew spelled broken dishes.

"Oi," Sanji started, annoyed.

At this sudden interjection, Zoro didn't exactly startle. He did turn around abruptly, though, which was probably why he ended up letting go of the plate he was drying. And inevitably, it fell against the edge of the sink, and burst into several pieces of various sizes that flew in all directions.

"You idiot..." Sanji grumbled, teeth clenching around his cigarette and brushing away the few pieces that clung to his wet arm.

He turned to Zoro, ready to kick his ass – because he'd broken a plate and dear Nami-san would be angry because plates where expensive.

"What's wrong with you, asshole?" He started, but Zoro wasn't paying attention again.

"Your arm," he said in a deep yet unusually quiet voice.

Sanji was dumbfounded for a second, but after following Zoro's gaze, he realized that he'd gotten cut there. And he was immediately angry at him. It was the second time he'd hurt an arm because of that asshole. He'd been yelled at by Chopper, and had to be careful with the right one for the past week. It was barely starting to heal properly, and now, his other arm...

"Dammit, dumbass," he spit through clenched teeth. "Why do you have to be such a clumsy, shitty, stupid..."

He wasn't anywhere near done with the list of epithets that were pouring from his apparently inexhaustible mouth. He'd had more than enough of Zoro's bullshit, really, and –

– and suddenly, Zoro's hand was around his injured arm, slightly wet from the dishcloth, firm but steady. The words died on his lips, and his anger was replaced by something else, something he couldn't put words on.

Zoro's face was scrunched in a frown as he examined the cut, his thumb gently prodding at the wound. Sanji followed his gaze and glanced at his arm briefly, and fortunately, it didn't seem too deep, but his mind barely registered. He looked back at Zoro's face. His eyes, intent on the blood seeping from the cut in his arm, were lowered, and his eyelashes – Sanji had never noticed before, but Zoro's eyelashes were kinda long for a guy's, and not exactly green at all – cast a shadow on his eyes.

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Sanji, Zoro let go of his arm and raised his eyes to look at him in the eye.

"It's fine," he grunted, and Sanji might have imagined it, but his voice didn't sound as grumpy as usual.

Sanji couldn't take his eyes off Zoro, and he absentmindedly realized that he was faintly grinding on his cigarette with clenched teeth. He watched Zoro blink once, twice. When Zoro finally averted his gaze to stare at the nearby wall and raised an arm to scratch the back of his head, Sanji thought he looked slightly embarrassed, though it was hard to tell with that perpetual frown.

And suddenly, everything was crystal-clear to him. It was all so simple. Zoro, and that feeling. So, so simple.

It felt like hunger. And like hunger, Sanji knew that feeling would never be satiated for long.

 

 

***

Later, Zoro would pretend he didn't feel cornered when, after discarding his long gone out cigarette, Sanji unexpectedly grabbed his collar and pressed him somewhat menacingly against the sink.

"What the –" he started, but when he glanced at Sanji's face, suddenly very close, he forgot about protesting.

The cook's eye that wasn't hidden behind hair was blazing with rage, but he found there was also something else, something feverishly hot, shining in that ice-blue iris, that looked all but cold to Zoro.

"You..." Sanji started, and his voice was trembling with barely contained fury. "Why are you always like this?"

"Huh?" Zoro didn't understand a thing the cook was saying.

"Always hiding everything behind that stupid frown of yours as if we weren't able to tell the difference," Sanji answered. "As if you were better than us. You may think everyone's too stupid to notice, but you're wrong."

He smirked, and Zoro had to steel himself not to flinch. That smile was almost predatory. If Zoro wasn't mistaken, what was happening right now was precisely what he'd been trying to avoid for the past week.

"What the hell are you –"

"Shut up!" Sanji snapped, bringing his face even closer, and Zoro could almost taste the faint tobacco smell of his breath. "You can't hide from me anymore, because I can read you like a book."

Sanji pressed one of his immensely strong legs against his crotch, he knew his apprehension wasn't unfounded.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked again, hoping the slight panic he was feeling inside didn't show in his voice.

Sanji pressed his body even closer, and brought his mouth to Zoro's ear.

"Just trying to prove a point, shithead," he said in a quieter, almost intimate tone.

His raspy voice grazed against Zoro's skin and made the short hair in the back of his head stand on ends.

Sanji lowered his mouth to Zoro's neck and started sucking hard on the sensitive skin there. That, with the combined circular motion of his thigh against his cock, almost made Zoro shudder. He could feel he was getting hard, and he didn't want that... Did he?

"Asshole," Sanji muttered against his skin. "Stop holding back." He nipped at Zoro's neck, making him briskly inhale through his nose. "Stop reigning everything in. And if you don't want this, then, stop me."

He sneaked a hand between them to jerk Zoro's haramaki upwards and started to rake his nails along his waist – sliding slender fingers into his pants, against the small of his back, eliciting shivers that he couldn't control this time. And when the cook reached back upfront to grab at his cock roughly through his pants and squeezed, Zoro decided that he wouldn't stop him. This was feeling way too good to pass and he didn't care anymore – besides, he owed the cook one. 

"Your dick is more honest than you are," Sanji said, his words muffled against Zoro's neck, where his mouth was still at work.

"Confused," Zoro replied, trying to keep his voice steady and somewhat succeeding.

Sanji's ministrations stopped for a moment.

"Huh?"

"Not honest – confused. It's a dick," Zoro stated, his voice just a bit firmer, as if Sanji was an idiot who didn't know that. "It doesn't think."

Grabbing the cook by his shoulders and using his superior upper body strength, he overturned him against the counter, and pressed himself against Sanji's slender hips. He found the cook was hard as well, just like the first time.

"Who's being honest here?" He asked, confident enough to let a faint smirk paint his features.

Sanji didn't seem fazed by the sudden change in their positions though. To Zoro's slight consternation, he looked rather smug.

"Who knows," he replied, and Zoro wanted to erase that infuriating smirk from his face.

With a frustrated grunt, and certainly without thinking, he grabbed the cook by the back of his neck and crushed* their mouths together.

 _There – that's better_ , he thought when he felt Sanji's moan more than he heard it, the sound muffled against his lips. He took the opportunity as it came to him, and aggressively invaded Sanji's mouth with his tongue.

Zoro's kiss was sloppy, with too much teeth for Sanji's liking, and he didn't seem to know, exactly, what to do with his tongue. The cook realized that he'd probably never kissed anyone before their one-sided confrontation in the pantry. He'd probably been his first. The thought made him feel somewhat exhilarated, and he couldn't refrain a slightly amused smile.

When Zoro released his lips a moment later, eyes closed and faintly panting for air – of course, that idiot didn't think of breathing while they were kissing – Sanji took advantage of the situation and overturned him against the counter again.

"Let me show you how it's done," he breathed against Zoro's mouth.

He pressed their lips together, gently at first, then firmly. And when Zoro obliged and opened his mouth, he kissed him with all he had, passionately, sneaking his tongue in and deftly sliding and pressing around it in turn. And, since he was good at multitasking – he was a goddamn cook, after all – he nimbly unfastened Zoro's pants and sneaked a hand inside. He grabbed his cock and resolutely proceeded to drive him crazy with perfect, regular jerking motions.

But Zoro wouldn't have any of this, despite the fact Sanji's ministrations were very efficient. If their previous encounter had taught him something, it was that he wanted to feel, to touch as well. If anything, this was only another competition between them. He wouldn't let Sanji have the upper hand, this time.

Taking advantage of the necessary distance between them for Sanji to jerk him off, he decided to return the favor and grabbed the cook's dick through his annoying dress pants. Sanji moaned against his mouth – which he definitely heard this time – and Zoro knew it was a good idea. He managed to open the stupid button and zipper, though he felt like he was nowhere nearly as dexterous as the cook about it, and took his cock into his hand. The skin felt eerily soft and warm against his palm, which was weird, but didn't prevent him from starting to move his hand.

Sanji didn't try to stop him, this time, and instead broke the kiss, letting his head fall on Zoro's shoulder, letting out a faint groan.

"Having fun, shitty marimo?" Sanji grunted irritatedly against his ear.

"Hnn," Zoro grunted in reply. "Dunno – you?"

"You wish."

After that, they both fell silent. They went on like that for a while, but soon, way too soon, Zoro felt himself slipping into it more than he thought he should. He didn't know about Sanji, but the cook was good with his hands and he wasn't going to last, he knew it. And yet, despite the fact that it felt so good he thought something would painfully burst if he didn't come soon, it was also not enough.

On a sudden impulse fueled by frustration, he removed his hand from Sanji's pants. The cook moaned at the loss – though it sounded more like a deep whine, to Zoro's immense satisfaction – but he didn't have time to linger on that. He pushed Sanji's hand away from his cock, and slid an arm around the cook's waist. He managed to switch their positions again without much resistance – though, seeing how disheveled and feverish Sanji looked by now, it was no surprise that he'd only comply – he brought their hips together and started grinding hard.

That was more like it.

Sanji vaguely tried to slow him down, or at least, that's how Zoro's brain registered the feeble push of hands against his hips, but he thought that if he stopped now, he'd probably die. So, he didn't let that happen. He grabbed the cook's hand, keeping it pinned it on the counter with his own. And when Sanji started clutching at the counter's edge strongly, it felt natural to him to intertwine their fingers.

Everything felt so good.

After only a few thrusts, Sanji suddenly disentangled his restrained hand from Zoro's grip, and he felt the cook grab at his collar and hip, pressing their bodies harder. Before he realized what was happening, he was being kissed thoroughly, swallowing Sanji's deep moan, and he felt a faint pulsing through the thin fabric of their underwear – pants had long gone down thighs from the repeated motions. He'd finally made Sanji come first. The thought that the cook was coming because of him, because of things that he did to him, was what pushed him over the edge.

He growled deeply, and letting his head fall on Sanji's shoulder, let himself go. He came so hard it almost hurt. After thrusting a final time, he finally stopped moving, feeling like he'd ran a fucking marathon, but more sated than he'd ever felt.

He could feel Sanji's hand on his waist, keeping him close. He felt so boneless, and he vaguely wondered why his weight, which he was mainly resting on the cook, wasn't bothering him. But after a while, when the hormone-induced blissfulness started receding, he found Sanji was actually stroking the skin on his hipbone. It was a little too intimate – too tender of a gesture – for comfort, maybe – definitely.

He leaned back, and found Sanji was looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, panting faintly through parted lips. Zoro didn't know what to make of it.

He tried to reign his shaky breathing by inhaling deeply, and shook his head in an attempt to clear his muddled thoughts.

This seemed to send Sanji into motion again. Averting his eyes, he stood up and ran a hand through his hair, trying to put it back into place without much success. Avoiding any contact with Zoro, he gently pushed him away, took a step away from the counter, and after he finished buttoning his pants and tucking his shirt in them, he simply stood there, his back turned to him. He looked tense.

"Damn," he muttered. "I need to get changed."

Zoro didn't think he expected any reply, so he said nothing. Besides, he realized as he leaned against the counter, he didn't feel like he had the necessary strength to talk right now.

"I..." Sanji started. "I guess I proved my point."

And without further ado, he walked through the door, leaving Zoro slightly nonplussed at his enigmatic behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Following my own advice, huh... Nope.


End file.
